190 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
The queen rests. Henceforth, as far as we 
know, she becomes a mere egg-producing ma- 
chine, fed mechanically by mechanical workers, 
the food transformed by physiological mechan- 
ics into yolk and then deposited. The aeroplane 
has become transformed into an incubator. 
One wonders whether, throughout the long 
hours, weeks and months, in darkness which ren- 
ders her eyes a mockery, there ever comes to her 
dull ganglion a flash of memory of The Day, of 
the rushing wind, the escape from pursuing puff- 
birds, the jungle stretching away for miles be- 
neath, her mate, the cool tap of drops from a 
passing shower, the volplane to earth, and the 
obliteration of all save labor. Did she once look 
behind her, did she turn aside for a second, just 
to feel the cool silk of petals? 
As we have seen, an Atta worker is a mem- 
ber of the most implacable labor-union in the 
world: he believes in a twenty-four hour day, no 
pay, no play, no rest—he is a cog in a machine- 
driven Good-for-the-greatest-number. After 
studying these beings for a week, one longs to 
go out and shout for kaisers and tsars, for self- 
ishness and crime—anything as a relief from such 
terrible unthinking altruism. All Atta workers 
